“The devil! And why?”
“It is all that is left to me, and it only brings me eleven thousand francs a year; and to embark in business I need capital—a beginning. I prefer not to borrow.”
The General rose, and once more his military tramp shook the gallery. Then he threw himself back on the sofa.
“You must not sell that property! I owe you nothing, ‘tis true, but I have an affection for you. You refuse to be my adopted son. Well, I regret this, and must have recourse to other projects to aid you. I warn you I shall try other projects. You must not sell your lands if you wish to become a deputy, for the country people—especially those of Des Rameures—will not hear of it. Meantime you will need funds. Permit me to offer you three hundred thousand francs. You may return them when you can, without interest, and if you never return them you will confer a very great favor upon me.”
“But in truth, General—”
“Come, come! Accept it as from a relative—from a friend—from your father’s friend—on any ground you please, so you accept. If not, you will wound me seriously.”
Camors rose, took the General’s hand, and pressing it with emotion, said, briefly:
“I accept, sir. I thank you!”
The General sprang up at these words like a furious lion, his moustache bristling, his nostrils dilating, his chest heaving. Staring at the young Count with real ferocity, he suddenly drew him to his breast and embraced him with great fervor. Then he strode to the door with his usual solemnity, and quickly brushing a tear from his cheek, left the room.
The General was a good man; but, like many good people, he had not been happy. You might smile at his oddities: you never could reproach him with vices.